Wrought of Silver
by Zesii
Summary: The story of Regulus Black, Dorcas Meadowes, some books and a pair of silver lockets. During the rise of Voldemort, two teenagers became part of a greater design than either could have forseen.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Dorcas, Regulus and their universe belong to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, not me.

-

_1978_

_Dorcas sat huddled in a dark corner of the tiny cell, her arms wrapped tight around her legs and her nose between her knees. Unconsciously she stopped rocking back and forth and wiped at her eyes, dirty hands on a dirty face not quite managing to remove the trails of tears on her cheeks. Her clothing, drab and worn to begin with, was now torn and bloody and, try as she might, her filthy brown hair wouldn't stay out of her face._

_She hung precariously on the edge of life. Her mind had already vacated her current surroundings and situation and she had retreated somewhere within herself, where there was golden light, a vibrant green of spring leaves and the warm scratch of bark on her fingers._

_A single sound penetrated into her deep hiding place. It came from the gently pulsating locket around her neck hanging onto her chest, and the vibrations pierced right to her very soul._

_Radiating out from the locket, his heartbeats throbbed, the beats quick and uneven. She didn't know when it would end or if her own heart would give out first._

_She was minutes away from death. She had no hope left. She had only the image of a tree and the heartbeat from a locket wrought of silver._


	2. Chapter 1

September 2, 1971

On her second day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, abright and glorious day,Dorcas Meadowes found the Perfect Tree. It was situated on the east side of the lake, protected from sight on the northern, southern and western sides by a tall row of gnarled hedges. The tree itself was a mighty oak, live and strong, its green leaves vibrant and plentiful. There weren't quite enough leaves to block out the light to those underneath its limbs, though. That was the first reason why it was the Perfect Tree: good light, not too patchy.

Well, actually, that was the second reason. The first reason was that it was out of sight and out of the way so she wouldn't have to worry about her stupid classmates bothering her. That was, first and foremost the function of the Perfect Tree: to be out of the way. The second function was to provide good light for reading. And the third and final function was to provide a bench.

Well, actually, Dorcas thought, that should have been the first reason. _Oh, bother with it. _The list was mixed up enough already, and the fact remained that the bench was the decisive factor in choosing this tree. A low, thick limb curved around the bottom of the trunk, wide and flat. Very bench-like, perfect sitting level for a tall eleven-year-old wanting to sit and read the days away.

A tall pile of books had been her starting-school present from her father and she was determined to read them all. She even knew what most of the words in most of the titles meant. Dorcas planned to have them all done by Christmas Break. She was going to prove she'd earned her spot in Ravenclaw.

Of course, before one could read, one needed a Perfect Tree in which to read the books. It's what she had had at home in her backyard and she knew she would find one here, looking perfect enough to have been conjured especially for her.

Thoroughly pleased with herself, thinking that this was a sure sign that she was going to do well here at Hogwarts, she sat down and opened up the first dusty novel in her bookbag.


	3. Chapter 2

She'd established a routine by the time the fist week was done. Dorcas did her schoolwork during lunch. After classes she found her way to the Tree and read until it was dark, at which point she hurried back to the Ravenclaw Common Room – inconveniently located in a high tower - and finished whatever schoolwork she had left.

It was perfect.

Tuesday morning she made her way down to the tree, _Pride and Prejudice_ in hand. The sun was shining and the air was still filled with summer, no trace of the coming autumn.

Then she saw him. Sitting in her tree, on her branch, he was reading a book.

She panicked. Dorcas wanted to turn and run, relinquish control, just let him have it. Going and sitting down would lead to questions, talking, having to defend herself, possibly even an argument.

But then again – it was the Perfect Tree.

She walked around to face him. His face was bent down, obscured by neatly trimmed black hair, silently reading.

She took a deep breath. "Ex-excuse me. Um. Do you mind if I, you know, sit here – well, over there – and read?"

He looked up. An oddly shaped nose, fairly defined cheekbones, grey eyes. He looked like the fourth year Gryffindor who had infiltrated the Ravenclaw table yesterday, sitting beside her for about ten minutes, giggling with a boy wearing glasses, before they simultaneously inflatedthe Ravenclaw prefect's head.

The boy squinted at her. "Sorry?"

Dorcas was regretting the whole thing already, poised to turn on her heel. She saw the Slytherin emblem on his robes and swallowed. "Do y'think, maybe, I could sit here too?"

He raised an eyebrow and she felt the urge to explain herself. "I've been sitting here every day for the last week, well, you know, 'cause it's a good place to read, and I could just sit on the other side of the tree. I'll be quiet. I just want to read, that's all."

He looked at her. "What's your name again?"

"Oh, I'm Dorcas – Meadowes. I'm, uh, a first year."

He muttered under his breath, trying to remember something... "Meadowes, Meadowes, Meadowes, Meadowes - " Suddenly he grinned. "You're a pureblood, aren't you?"

"I guess so," she conceded.

"We're third cousins by marriage. My dad says it's okay if I talk to Purebloods."

"Who's your dad?" Dorcas asked.

"Orion Black," answered the boy. "You've probably heard of him. We're pretty rich."

She didn't want to lie, but something told her she shouldn't offend or cross him. "Mmm, I guess so. Do you think he would mind if I sat here?"  
He searched her face for a trace of sarcasm. Finding none, he cracked half a smile. "I don't ask him about everything. I'm a second year already. I say you can sit down."

"Thanks," she said and scooted out of his sight to plonk herself down, glad the ordeal was over with.

"One more thing," came the boy's voice, soon followed by his face and lanky frame. He smiled at her again, a very polite smile. "My name is Regulus."

He shook her hand.


	4. Chapter 3

Regulus hadn't thought anyone would find his little hiding spot where he came to read. Obviously his hiding charms had failed miserably, probably havingworn off during the summer.

It was disconcerting to say the very least.

But she'd found his tree, his special hiding place, clearly valuing the same traits of a reading tree as he did. She had excellent taste, preferring to share it than lose it. And her being willing to talk to him made her worthy of civility.

It also didn't hurt she had breeding.

So he let her stay and sit with him.

-

She was quiet, like she'd told him, never speaking a word. They would sit in silence for hours, feeling nothing but the breeze and the sun filtering down on them, lost in their own worlds.

Sometimes he would come when she wasn't there, and sometimes for days on end she'd come without seeing signs of him. Most of the time, though, they sat at the tree together, each just out of the other's eyesight. The scratchy paper noise of pages turning was the only sound along with their soft deep breaths.

As the autumn chilled Regulus put down a strong heating charm to keep them warm. He spun an invisible magical net above their heads to stop the leaves and later the snow from disturbing them.

The day before he left on winter holiday he found blue balls of fire nestled in a nook right above where he usually sat, and a note – "Merry Christmas!"

He left her a slightly longer thank-you note and a bar of chocolate, both of which were gone the next time he came back in February. In its place she'd left another note – short, but funny and cute - and a bookmark which spat at him if he hadn't picked up the book for a week. Soon they were leaving trinkets for each other with notes that grew longer and longer, having entire conversations without seeing the other's face.

It always surprised Regulus to see Dorcas walking around with her friends because in his mind she existed somewhere near the tree. He'd nod and smile and she would do the same, but they were always subtle because of a mutual understanding: Dorcas' friends really wanted nothing to do with Slytherins, and Regulus' friends wanted nothing to do with geeks. It was a creed to which neither Dorcas nor Regulus really subscribed, but they both respected.

The year progressed, and the two would just sit in silence as the spring bloomed around them, very far apart in their different galaxies whirling millions of miles apart on the other side of the tree, right up to the day before school let out.

They didn't have their first real conversation for another two years.


	5. Chapter 4

September 2, 1974

Professor Cuneif's classroom was a rather dreary affair. Regulus could smell the mildew in the air and wondered how long it had been since any creature had ventured into the dank corners of the room. There was barely room for the forty or so students which Ancient Runes brought in every day. Bookshelves covered the walls, mostly half-empty and covered with spider webs. Layered on top were the generations of yellowing posters full of archaic symbols and fading hieroglyphs.

Every day Regulus would come and sit at the same table over by the Sumerian section, avoiding the bumbling professor's gaze Last year this had been his slack-off class, where he worked on his other work and chatted with his friends. They'd all assured him they had signed up again for fifth year, but as the clock ticked steadily past the ten o' clock mark, Regulus felt quite peeved and began making plans in his head to put slimy things in their beds. The other four tables were full, mainly the same students in the same places as last year. Except for his table, in the corner, where he sat alone.

A great clearing of the throat issued from behind a stack of papers on the front desk, and the room fell silent. Professor Cuneif, a rotund man with a bowtie and spectacles, emerged and addressed the class.

"Welcome to your class of Ancient Runes. I'm so glad to see all of you here – Ms. McKinnon, will you please be quiet? – and hope we can have a productive and respectful year. As you all know, I am - "

The door creaked open and a scrawny girl entered, her arms laden with what seemed to be mouldy blankets. She stood at the front of the class for a moment, frozen, as dozens of eyes surveyed her. "Sorry, Professor, I just didn't know where the room was," she finally squeaked out.

He gave her a warm smile. "That's alright, Durnas, just take a seat over there," he said, gesturing to the corner where Regulus lay with his head on his arms. She hurried over and dropped the armload onto the table with a significant thud. Regulus looked up.

"Sweet Jesus, Dorcas, don't scare me like that," Regulus said, recognizing her face. "How is it that you manage to get me by surprise?" he muttered to himself.

She sat down on what looked to be a decaying chair, carefully perching on the wooden edge of the seat where she was pretty sure it hadn't rotted through yet. "You know, Regulus, my amazing powers of timing never cease to amaze even myself."

The professor carried on with his speech, a beautiful soliloquy to which Regulus had very little intention of listening.

He cocked an eyebrow at Dorcas. "What are you doing in level three runes? You're only a fourth year, right?"

Dorcas grinned. "I've been doing research over the summer," she said. "I was in our house, in the basement, looking for some of my grandmother's jewelry. She was an important historian, you know, and was said to have had some pretty valuable stuff. But anyways, I was working through the back basement when I touched a brick with my wand trying to get some light and poof! I found something!"

"What, like a torture chamber?" Regulus asked, remembering some of the exploring accomplished at his family's home.

She laughed. "My family's not quite as wicked as yours. It was a whole library! Full of my grandmother's books! And here's the thing: not a single one's in English."

"Why not hire a translator instead of taking a class?"

"Well," Dorcas said, "I really don't know what's in some of these books. Grandma died pretty suddenly and my grandfather did a good job of hiding what she was researching to make sure others couldn't get to it. My mother says not even he knew what she'd been working on during her last days. There could be something groundbreaking and original, or even something really dangerous."

"Did she write them all herself?" Regulus asked.

Dorcas chewed on her finger. "No, I don't think so. She was a historian, and about the time she died she'd been working for the Aurors. I'm thinking it'd all been confiscated and given over to her to study."

"There could be some really Dark spells in there, Dorcas.Your mother would let you translate this?" Regulus didn't think his parents would ever let him do such work. Declaring his brother dead to them had left Regulus the honor of being the sole heir of the Black family. Mrs. Black would make sure that no harm would ever come to him.

"Well, that's the thing," Dorcas said slowly. "I haven't really told them about everything I found. Not even Professor Cuneif knows about all of these. Like this." She pulled out a dusty tome from the bottom of her pile. It looked like someone had slashed the cover and there was an ashy burn where the title would be. Dorcas had wrapped strips of linen around it to keep the binding together.

"I don't even know what language this one is in. I've looked everywhere, in every library while we were overseas."

Regulus gently picked up the book, feeling the cover give with age. He looked closely at the title and made out a very faded mark resembling a lightning bolt. He gently touched the cloth with his fingersand felt the sharp pang of a spark, like steel on steel. Quickly he gave it back to her.

She took it and looked at it. "Creepy, isn't it? This is my project. I want to read this entire book before I'm done with this school. Promise you won't tell anyone?"

Regulus eyed the book, looking at the pages which seemed to have faded to black on the edges. He nodded. "Would you mind if I helped?"

"Of course not," Dorcas said, smiling.

"I just hope it's more than a recipe book," Regulus said.

Dorcas grinned. "That would be just my luck."


	6. Chapter 5

Regulus's head throbbed as he woke up in his bed, still dressed in the school robes he'd worn last night. He gently propped himself up on the pillow, just enough to gaze around his dormitory. Most of the beds were empty, but he caught sight of two heads, one blonde and the other dark, hair disheveled, laying on unmade beds. Nott and Blackburn. Jesus, what had he done last night? With Nott and Blackburn? It hurt to think, and the memory wasn't there anyway. He flopped back down, clutching his temples. _Never again,_ said one part of his mind.

_That's what you said last time, _another bit reminded him. He hadn't even been to that many of these parties, and he wasn't quite sure why he went. They weren't _fun _to him exactly – not like watching Quidditch or pissing off a righteous Griffindor – but there were people there.

People like Nott and Blackburn. Good people to know. Good people to be friendly with, to have connections with.

He looked down at his wristwatch, and groggily made out the numbers. _Damn. _Too late for most of his morning classes, and he hadn't a snowflake's chance in hell of making it to Transfiguration.

Fresh air, that's what he needed. .


	7. Chapter 6

The thick fog clouded around, obscuring everything twenty feet away from view. It seemed a bit to Dorcas that she was in a large white room, a studio, with no doors or windows. She wanted to reach out and cut herself a slice of it as a snack. It would go well with strawberries.

For now she had to be content with breathing the cool air, feeling it slide down her throat like a frosty drink. A heavy book sat on her lap, but she'd given up trying to read it a while ago. The symbols swam before her eyes, and nothing quite worked. The black lines curved and twisted, alike, yes, but not enough to translate.

She licked the moisture off her lips and rested her eyes on the grey shadow of the lake.

"_Goddamn!"_

Dorcas leapt to her feet as a dim thud registered ten feet away from the tree. Carefully feeling her way she found Regulus on the ground, clutching his head.

"Sorry," she offered, squatting down beside him and the offending obstacle, a large book.

He threw her a death glare, eyes like a knife under heavily knitted brows. Dorcas was suddenly very glad they hadn't learned to do unspoken spells yet. She picked up the book, a particularly heavy volume, and hugged it to her chest.

"What, did you knock your head on a rock or something?"

Regulus smirked. "I might as well have. Fucking hangovers."

"Do you want me to try some magic on your head?" Dorcas asked. Regulus regarded her with blurry eyes, uncertain.

"How many times have you gotten rid of hangovers?" He'd let Nott try on his head once, and it had taken a week for his head to start sprouting human hair again. Since then he'd always opted for sleeping it off.

"Oh ye of little faith," Dorcas said. "I'd just try a simple clear-head charm."

Regulus again regarded her with skepticism. "Could you get rid of this?" he said, lifting his robes to show where he'd scraped his knee tripping on the book.

"Easy," she scoffed, and before he could move, she'd waved her wand and the skin cleaved itself together. He was impressed, and gave her an _if-you-must_ kind of look. She grinned ear to ear and tapped his head.

"Ow," he said, rubbing the spot. "And the fog's still here."

"I'm afraid I can't get rid of that," she said apologetically. "I can't melt clouds." But obviously her charm had done some good, for Regulus stood and started looking around. He snapped his jaw in the air playfully.

"I guess we'll just have to eat it, because - "

But he never managed to finish, as he promptly tripped on another book.

"God_damn!_"


	8. Chapter 7

He'd scraped himself again, so she patched him up. Regulus decided that was quite enough, so he gathered all the books spread over the ground, stacking the tomes against the tree. Dorcas settled on the low branch, gathering her robes close.

"There are seven of them," said Regulus, sitting on the damp ground next to the stack, facing Dorcas. "Why did you bring them out here?"

Dorcas regarded him for a moment before answering. His grey eyes were rimmed with red, and a thin layer of blue showed through his white skin. His hair was a mess, a tangle of uncombed black tresses jutting out at odd angles. Impressively messy for hair that short. She wanted to reach out and comb it through with her fingers.

"I thought they'd be safe."

Regulus closed his eyes, long dark lashes on his pale skin. He lay down on the wet grass, hands under his head.

Dorcas continued. "I couldn't keep them in my dormitory, there's not enough space. I only get one bookshelf, and that's already full. The first few nights I managed to fit four of them under my bed, and I slept on the rest of them."

She watched his chest slowly rise and fall, and, sensing no answer, continued. "Under my pillow. Like an Egyptian, sleeping on rocks." She paused again and a moment passed.

Regulus opened his eyes and turned towards her.

"How did you do that?"

"What?"

"You know, the spell to regrow skin? clear heads?" He made vague gestures with his hand.

"Oh." She lowered herself onto the ground next to him and leaned against the tree, a corner of a book jutting into her shoulder. The grass was only slightly damp, but it didn't matter because she was wearing full wool robes. They were on more equal planes now. "My mother's a Healer. No real secret. I want to be one, too. I would go to work with her when I was little, and I've picked up a few of the simpler spells."

"She's at St. Mungo's?"

"Well, she is now. Not like there are many other places she can work anymore."

He rolled over onto his side. Dorcas saw his expression change to the practiced look of aristocratic concern. Very politic, very cautious, very polished. It annoyed her and she answered his look sharply.

"Didn't you hear? Your father probably knows. It was the talk of the town. My dad had to make up some bullshit to keep the tongues from wagging."

He stayed calm, his answer measured. "Just because my father knows doesn't mean he would tell me. He's not a gossip, like some people."

She clenched her jaw. "You know, don't you." It was an accusation. Regulus drew in a breath, about to protest, but she cut him off.

"It's not even as if it's something to be ashamed about! She was working, helping people! And the Ministry wouldn't allow it - "

"Stop, Dorcas. I don't want to know. You don't want me to know." Regulus sat up slowly, but didn't meet her eyes. He picked blades of grass intently.

She wiped her eyes, now thoroughly frustrated at herself for getting so worked up. A pit of discontent had formed in her stomach. He was right, but she wasn't going to let him win. Dorcas breathed in and out. "I mean, what's wrong with doing the right thing? Why are people so uptight about taking a stand?"

Regulus looked at her again with those grey eyes, the coloring of his face still not completely right. She sensed he was almost sickly. "How far back can you trace your family tree?"

"And this has a point?" Dorcas asked. Regulus nodded solemnly. "Well," she said, thinking back to the dusty scrolls in their library under the heading _Genealogy._ "I guess about twelve hundred years."

"Who's the heir?"

"My uncle Joseph."

"Would you disgrace him?"

She thought of the plump, jolly man who always gave her the largest present on Christmas day. "No, but - "

"Would you disgrace twelve hundred years of ancestors? _Twelve hundred years?_"

"Of course not, but that's beside the - "

"Would it be _right _to disgrace their names? Names they worked for all their lives so that you could be here today to wear it proudly? It's not right. Gossip is a menace and it could hurt them as much as any hex." His voice was cool as steel.

"But that shouldn't discourage people from putting names on the line."

"Who will listen to you if you don't have a name? Even if you do see injustice, putting your faith on the wrong thing will tarnish your name forever. You won't be taken seriously. Some say your mother was working on something rather trivial. It wasn't enough to merit losing a reputation like that of your family's. Your father did the right thing, as much as your mother did." Regulus was the one getting worked up now. "Who would you be without your name? In that house? With those servants?

"There are codes to be followed, decorum to be observed. For a reason. Be proud that you are a Pureblood. Not everyone can claim it."

She paused. "You're missing my point. A name should not prevent action. No matter your name, injustice will damn you. Would you agree with that?"

"Of course," Regulus answered, pulling his knees up to his chest. "I have my scruples. I have compassion for my fellow man and all that."

Dorcasallowed a smile. She didn't really feel like arguing today. Arching aneyebrow in his direction, she said"Seriously? You have a heart? Somewhere under all those expensive robes a heart beats?"

"I think it's still beating. Unless you detect something with those amazing Healer powers of yours."

"You'd know pretty quickly if it had stopped, Regulus."

"And if it did? Right here, right now? Would you save me?"

She looked him over. "Well. Perhaps."

"That's comforting."

"No, you know what? I'd trade you. I'll recusitate you if you agree to give up your name."

"What, all of it? Can't I just trade off a few of my middle names?"

"A few? Good god man! How many do you have?"

Regulus looked down at his hands and began counting off silently on his fingers. When he'd run out of fingers, he looked up and simply said, "Far too many."

"No, then, you can't barter those. It's all or nothing. Regulus, Black, the odd Alphard and the rest."

"Well." He bit his lip. "You might as well let me die. I'm quite fond of Alphard."

"Disgraceful," Dorcas proclaimed, cluckingher tongue. "Your life to keep your name."

"And I'd do it again."

Dorcas stood. "You'd better hope that your heart doesn't stop while I'm around, then." She picked up four of the books on the stack, unsure of exactly what she was going to do with them. She set them back down. "Um. Do you think maybe you could take a few of these back to yourroom or something?"

He laughed. "Right. Here, I'vea better idea. Let's leave them here. We'll dig a hole and cover it. Nobody will find them. Don't worry," he said, answering the fearful look on Dorcas's face,"we'll line the hole with steel, silver, something. They'll be fine."

Dorcas released a long sigh. "I don't have any better ideas. Do you have a shovel?"


	9. Chapter 8

Their table didn't stay private for long. The next Monday morning when Ancient Runes was held, a slick athletic boy slipped into the seat next to Regulus. His frizzy blond hair actually went well with his green and silver tie. A sharp nod and a cordial "I'm Evan," marked his total introduction to Dorcas, and though she politely responded in turn, she wasn't sure he'd heard.

"Anna," she asked one of her friends later that night in the common room, "do you know Evan Rosier at all?"

"Rosier? No, not really. I think Marie went out with him once last year. But – I don't know. He's not quite the type you should really – you know? He's kind of sketchy." Anna buried herself again at the bottom of a scroll.

"Sketchy?"

Anna peeped up again. "Well. Ask Marie. I do think he was one of those who had to paint Professor Lightfoot a mural, you remember that? The dragon and such? He must have really incurred The Foot's wrath for that. It was quite lovely though."

"Right. Foot made them wash it off afterwards?"

Anna shook her head sadly. "Such a waste. This old castle could do with more decoration."

Dorcas had seen the masterpiece only once, getting lost on the way to potions two years ago. She'd stumbled into a hallway she'd never seen before - she thought - although, that was hard to tell. All of the hallways down near the potions wing were made of solid grey stone, sturdy but drafty. During the winter you could touch the walls andsense solidice just beneath the surface. Dorcas had gotten herself lost and confused, and she got panicky when she realized her breath was billowing into little white clouds. She tripped over her own foot and stumbled down a few steps, landing sprawled on her back. As she looked up, a giant yellow dragon rearing its ugly head, green fire pouring out of its mouth.

Dorcas had screamed. The sound echoed off of the walls, but no one came. She'd been alone with the dragon and the cold stone beneath her hands. A minute passed. She got up and jogged away uneasily.

-

The days and nights passed, the weeks tripping over each other in the strange rhythm of haste and ennui. The snow fell and Regulus again conjured the all-weather-precipitation-guard for the tree. A day before she left for home on the Christmas break, Dorcas went to the tree to collect her books to bring home for study. On the bench was a present wrapped in blue shining paper. She ripped open the package and found a copy of _The Prince_ by Machiavelli, engraved with the Black family sign.

"Merry Christmas, Regulus," Dorcas whispered to the night.


	10. Chapter 9

Mrs. Black sawed through a particularly tough sliver of steak on her plate, the silver knife scraping on the china plate. The squeaking filled the large dining room, filling the spaces where just the night before a dozen relatives had sat. Last night the room was filled with sound and joy and Christmastime.

Tonight it was quiet. Tonight three people sat in the high-backed polished redwood chairs around the long dinner table. A four sided table, Regulus thought, with three people. We need a triangular table now. His eyes lingered on the empty seat, as if he saw a ghost, a wavering spirit - a negative one from four.

Too bad Sirius wasn't actually dead. They wouldn't have to be in a state of perpetual mourning. Regulus imagined his brother in a barn somewhere, hands dirty and hair filled with straw as he and his Mudblood friends wallowed around with the pigs. For their Christmas dinner they ate corn and slop, licking the spills from each others' cheeks. They were all impulse, all fire, all motion and passion. A wisp of smoke seemed to curl from the empty seat at the table.

Regulus said nothing and he and his father waited politely in the emptiness, the scraping of the cutlery filling their ears. Regulus itched at his stiff collar. Wherever that beef had come from, the old cow must have been as tough as his mother.

She finally stuck her knife into one side of the steak, her fork on the other, and pulled until the sought-after piece came free. She then carefully placed it in her mouth and chewed with tiny bites.

Regulus cleared his throat and two sets of eyes snapped towards him. "Father," Regulus said, "have you heard of Voldemort?"

Orion Black placed both hands onto his rotund belly and leaned back in his chair. "Voldemort," he said, as if trying out the word for the first time in polite company. "The agitator?"

Regulus kept his tone conversational, curious. "That is what they call him, don't they? But what do you think of him?"

I know what he's like, Regulus thought, like crack. That's how Voldemort came across as Evan described him. Like a crack pipe that you keep secret and tucked away, used in dark corners, but gave a high like no other. And it was clear Evan was hooked. "You've got to come to a meeting someday, Regulus. It's unbelievable." Evan glowed.

The meetings were infrequent and on arbitrary days, and Regulus hadn't had a chance to come. Yet.

"Well," said Mr. Black, stroking his silver beard, "I actually think the man has the right idea. He raises the right questions that we need to be asking ourselves as a society. He has a future."

Mrs. Black swallowed the piece of cow she'd been working on and set in for another. As knife met plate, the two men winced.

"Kreacher!" Mr. Black bellowed. A scuttling tiny pile of rags appeared. "Do we have any steak that's more tender? Or do you expect us to eat this overcooked cardboard?"

The house elf cringed and genuflected. "Kreacher is ever so sorry to make his masters suffer through his abysmal culinary skills. Ever so sorry." Tears formed at the corner of his eyes. "Let me fetch you more. So sorry, so so sorry."

As Kreacher scuttled away again Orion turned at laughed with his wife. "Oh yes, we'll give him something to be sorry about."

He looked at his son. "I see Voldemort going the right direction. He could be very powerful, and his followers will do very well for themselves. Their portions will be generous and their names will be remembered. If anyone would like to improve their chances for the future, they would do well to align themselves with him.

"If anyone could do it better than you, Regulus, I'd like to know who. I'm proud of you, boy. You'll do well."

Orion placed his hand on his son's and squeezed it. Regulus looked up at his father, whose eyes were welling up with tears.

"I love you, son."

Mrs. Black swallowed the piece of beef with a wet gulp.

Regulus felt the feeling of pride sneak into his belly. He worked hard, he had friends and his family was supportive. What more did he need?

"I love you too, Dad."


	11. Chapter 10

It was midnight and Dorcas was alone in her room. She was tired and starting to get annoyed. After staring at the book for an hour, she wanted to give up.

This didn't make any sense. No rhyme, no reason. The letters had always come clear to her, always. She couldn't remember a time when she couldn't read, and now the letters were running away from her. As soon as she could read a word it ran away, dissolved. Like a game of hide-and-go-seek which she couldn't win.

"Stop!" she whispered tensely. "Stop!"

Dorcas stabbed her wand onto the page and venomously uttered the strongest freezing spell she knew. The letters froze for a fraction of a second and then, all at once, dripped off the side of the paper, leaving her with nothing but a blank yellowed page

Her fingers hastily danced over the paper, trying to dig the letters out again, and when that didn't work she started flipping the pages. Ripping at the corners she chased the black figures, which always ran just out of her reach. When she reached the last page, they started running the other way through the book.

"No! Come back here!"

Grabbing each cover in her hands, Dorcas picked up the book and shook it upside down viciously. It slipped and fell on the ground, slamming shut.

_What is wrong with me?_ Dorcas wondered. _It's only a book. That's all. A magical book, but at its heart, only a book.. _

She crouched down to touch the cover and traced over the faded golden symbols just visible on the black cover, and blood oozed into the cloth. Dorcas turned her hands over and realized all of her fingertips were bleeding. Drawing a sharp intake of breath she pressed her hands into her robes to staunch the flow of blood, and looked away as her white nightgown turned dark red.

She needed a spell. She could handle this. Blood dripped down her legs. A moment of panic had caught her off guard and she racked her brain for the healing spell. The spell. She knew it. She grappled for the wand she'd dropped a minute before and dropped it again, its handle wet.

_Calm down. You're not going to die of a few paper cuts. _

"M-medeorus!" she stuttered, the spell coming back to her in a flash. "Please," she added, whispering. Though she told herself otherwise, this could be bad, very bad. The bleeding might not stop, her skin might keep ripping and shredding until it dissolved. She'd heard of these things happening, horror stories told in the first year dormitories – your arm would disappear layer by layer until the bones fell to the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut and let a moment pass.

Dorcas wiped her fingers and looked at them. The skin had healed, but she could see traces of the injuries. A single red scar, looking very much like a normal paper cut, marked each finger. On her left ring finger there were two. She shivered: eleven scars.

Breathing rapidly she changed her nightdress hurriedly, turned off her light and walked to the bed, burying herself in the covers.

Besides stuffing it into a bag, Dorcas didn't look at the book again until a week later, when Regulus noticed that the gold writing on the front had resolved into spiky, spindly letters:

_HORCRUCIOUS_

It took her another week to notice there was no longer a bloodstain.


	12. Chapter 11

"Evan, where've you been, mate?" Regulus said, mouth full of sausage and tomato.

He sat in a loose circle with his friends on this cold Sunday afternoon, eating brunch. The Great Hall was only half full, but the giant ceiling rewarded those who'd managed to wake up by nine with sunshine, something the real sky hadn't provided in over two weeks. Nothing as good as rich food and sun, Regulus thought.

Evan had wandered in and plopped down outside of the group, next to Regulus, dark circles under his eyes and a long scar running up his cheek. Evan made no answer to the query, just reached for a sausage and took a violent bite out of it. They sat in silence for a minute as he chewed and swallowed.

"Say Regulus," Evan said, a twitch in the corner of his smile, "do you know the sound an eyeball makes popping out of a socket?" Regulus shook his head.

"_Pop_," Evan said, smacking his lips, making a wet, juicy sound. "_Pop_ and it's gone," Evan said with droll amusement.

He took another bite of the sausage, then looked Regulus in the eye and grinned. "I should tell you. I've got it all set up. You're coming," he said, stacking a plate full of food. "Two weeks," he announced, flashing two fingers in front of Regulus's face."I'll take you, be your personal escort. It'll be fun. You excited?"

Voldemort, Regulus thought. I'll be there. I'll be a part of it, the movement of the decade. Hot acid stirred in his stomach, a churn of apprehension, but excitement fought its way out of the storm into his brain.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I can't wait."

"Good man," said Evan through a full mouth. He slapped Regulus on the back, getting up to settle in with the rest of the group.

A fortnight, Regulus thought. In a fortnight his life would change for good. And he couldn't be more excited. He shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth as he joined the general conversation of the group.


	13. Chapter 12

Dorcas checked her watch. Three minutes until she would have to leave for Ancient Runes. It was enough, this wouldn't take long. It would either work or it wouldn't – if it didn't, she would leave, and if it did, she could return later.

She knelt on the grass and waved her wand over a small rock, which turned into an ornate silver handle. Grabbing it, she opened a roughly hewn hole in which the seven books were now stacked. She took out _Horcrucious _waved her wand again, watching the grey rock reappear.

Dorcas sat on the tree branch and opened the book to the first page where four lines of meaningless scribbles stood, thus far indecipherable. She opened up her cheap penknife, and, flinching, cut a small nick on the side of her arm. Blood welled up red and full. Dorcas twisted her arm, and a single droplet landed on the paper. Clutching the wound, she watched the page as it soaked up the scarlet liquid, leaving the sheet as clean as it had been before. Except.

Except where the blood had touched the page there was now a letter, a fancy L, spindly and ornate.

She squeezed her cut and let more blood drip out, watching it translate the code before her eyes.It amazed her. She made the cut larger to let more blood out andwinced at the pain, jagged and sharp. It dulled, though, as she was swallowed by the fact that this book, probably encoded for decades, finally revealed its secret to her, and her alone. Sweetest success of her secret obsession dulled the pain as she watched her blood pool on the paper before disappearing. After a minute thededication stood clear:

Like the snake of Eden

Given God's own breath,

Find the stuff of life

Then turn and eat death.


	14. Chapter 13

Silence fell over the dusty room and Professor Cunief started handing out the tests to the class. Dorcas was still not here. Regulus looked at her empty seat, trying to divine her whereabouts. It was so unlike her to be gone on a test day. An uneasy feeling crept up his spine. Something was very wrong.

She wasn't sick – he'd seen her eating breakfast with her friends. She didn't forget class, never having missed one. She'd studied for this test, helped him with flashcards. The uncomfortable feeling washed over him again.

Instinct told him he could not ignore this. Chair scraping, he got up and quicklyslipped out of the room. He walked briskly down the hallway, orienting himself, before breaking into a slow jog. He ran downseveralflights of stairs, two steps at a time, just managing to jump over the faulty step. Finding a side door, Regulus went out into the brisk air.He carefully navigated the grounds, going onto his familiar path, the route he knew so well.

He ran along, not knowing what he would find. Around the bush, left at the Whomping Willow, down through the marsh by the lake. His legs moved mechanically. He turned the corner, his perfect tree coming into view.

And there was Dorcas, slumped over on the ground. Her black robe spread messily on the ground like a burial shroud, amass of brown hair concealing her face. And suddenly his heart was in his throat and he couldn't breathe anymore. But his legs kept moving and he was by her side and he was saying her name and she wasn't responding with words. His hands lifted her face and her eyes were barely open, unable to focus and there was blood everywhere. He ripped the book from her hands and found the cut, saw her wrist bleeding, the penknife two feet away. She'd slit her wrist and the blood just kept coming out.

He had to make it stop. His brain wasn't working right, but he knew he had to make it stop. Regulus clamped his hand over the gash. Blood spurted onto him, on his robes and his face, but he barely noticed.

Fabric, some cloth. He had to make the bleeding stop, stop her life escaping. Fumbling, he yanked off his tie and wound it up her arm, knotting it three times.

Dorcas moaned softly. "Don't worry," he said, trying to figure out what he should do next. He laid her flat on the ground, and with a swish and flick of his wand, she slowly rose into the air, as if on a stretcher. He grabbed her wet wrist and, with the help of the wand, he awkwardly retraced his steps back to the castle, carrying her along. "It's alright, you're going to be fine, don't worry," he repeated over and over again, stumbling over branches and rocks. Dorcas whimpered, incoherent and disoriented.

"It's going to be fine," he said.

And there was the door to the school, and there were the stairs. And there was the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey running to help.

Regulus collapsed into a chair after he helped an alarmedMadam Pomfreyto move Dorcas into a bed.The nursestarted chanting spells and pulling out potions, a calm Healer to the core, asking only a few simple questions, smoothly taking control. Regulus could tell this wasn't the first time she had seen attempted suicides, and she seemed encouraged that, with quick work, Dorcas could still be saved.

Wizarding suicides were usually quick and effective, a Stifling Spell to block the airways or a simple potion. Sometimes they were fantastical and creative, a wonder of carefully crafted charms. Most often, though, those wishing to end their lives didn't resort to messy Muggle methods, like cutting wrists or jumping from broomsticks, which could be unsuccessful and painful.

Regulus sat across the room from Dorcas's bed, head in his hands. _Why, Dorcas, why? _He felt sick.

The nurse finished tucking Dorcas in, and gave her a small dose of sleeping potion.

"Are you okay yourself, Mr. Black?" asked Madam Pomfrey. "You look awfully pale." Regulus stared at the floor, nodding slowly, trying to swallow the vomit creeping up his throat.

"Well," she said, "at least drink this." She handed him a warm goblet which he downed in a single swallow. It tasted like honey. His heart slowed a little from its frantic pace and he could breathe again.

He moved to Dorcas's bedside as Pomfrey left him. The wing was nearly empty, only two other patients occupying beds. A blond girl lay motionless, and next to her the Head Boy dozed lightly with a huge bandage on his hand. Probably another Quidditch injury, sustained at last night's game. Regulus wouldn't know though, not having been present.

For the next hour he sat quietly, his head spinning. His eyes traced the contour of Dorcas's still face a half dozen times, watched her chest rising and sinking. He eyed the bloodstains on her robes, her peachy skin, not realizing he wore her blood in matching stains from his earlier efforts.

Then at long last her eyelids opened.

"Dorcas?" Regulus whispered, gentle, barely keeping the anxiousness out of his voice.

She turned on her side and sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. "Regulus?" she croaked. Then her gaze found him and she smiled. "Regulus."

"Oh, God, Dorcas."

"What is it?"

He leaned in close, as if to make sure she was really breathing, that she really was talking, that she really lived. _I thought you were dead._ "Are you okay? How do you feel?"

She shook her head, as if he was missing the point. "You're here," she said with happy bewilderment.

"Yes, I suppose so – do you know where you are? You know what – well, what happened?"

"You're here," she said again. "I knew you would come. You were the only one who knew, the only one who knew where I was, the only one who could help. And I asked for you, and you're here."

The look of joy in her eyes lit up her face, glowing through the stains on her cheek. Regulus didn't care if she wasn't making any sense. She was well and radiant and alive, and he kissed her, a long kiss, slow and passionate.

Finally they broke apart, and for a moment Regulus panicked, afraid that he had overstepped his boundaries. But he looked in her eyes, and the joy was still there, flying high.

"Thank you for saving me," she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"Any time - " he answered, before she sealed her lips over his in sweet delight.

The Quidditch star, awoken from his doze, was the only witness tothe kisses they traded. A little disgusted when he realized the participants, and secretly a little jealous that his own red-haired beauty wasn't here with him, he turned over and went back to sleep.


	15. Chapter 14

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A/N: Ack! Sorry everyone. I can't believe it's nearly been ten months since I updated this thing. But I'm not going to let it die damnit. I've been planning out episodes in my head, now I just need to get it all typed out. Let's just say some things needed to happen before I could work on this baby again, and they happened, so I can work. So now let's see if I can get it going from where I left off...

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The next morning Regulus brought Dorcas a bouquet of handpicked yellow flowers, and they sat in a vase next to her bed.

He came to see her before supper that night, but her bed was surrounded by her friends. He didn't like them terribly - especially the one with the purple hair and the nose piercing. Slipping back through the door, Regulus was pretty sure no one had seen him.

So for the next three days he visited her just early in the morning and after dinner, so he could have her all to himself. Once he came at lunch to surprise her. She'd laughed, a beautiful laugh which had made the nurse sit up, alarmed. This just made the two of them laugh harder, until their ribs ached and the nurse had to come over and give them a charm to cool off. After she left, Regulus whispered to Dorcas, "It really wasn't that funny," and she agreed that, no, it wasn't, and then they got a fit of the giggles anyway.

The kissing and flowers made Regulus feel slightly tainted. As if he were going to be sick after a bad dream. But he was never sick, he just always really wanted to go back and kiss her some more. Which he did.

Just a day later he found out that she had to leave. Apparently in addition to the removal being standard procedure for especially "at risk" students, the headmaster had ordered it as well. Her parents were arriving imminently. He had no time to waste.

-

"You're being kicked out of the school?! They can't do that; you're a great student, smart and nice and school pride and all that."

"It's not permanent. I'll be back – I just won't be going to school full-time. Healer's orders, I can't do anything about it. It'll be a few days here and there, and if I'm lucky I'll being doing a full week at a time by the end of term."

"Bullshit!"

"I know. But what can I do?"

"You could, well, tell them the truth. Show them the book."

"The book!" Dorcas hissed angrily, scanning the room for eavesdroppers. "I can't show them the book! They think I'm disturbed but I'm not, really, so I'll be able to come back when I'm 'better'. But if they take away the books I really will be committed! No, it's my riddle to solve. Besides," – she dropped her voice low – "I've cracked the code."

Regulus brushed the hair out of her eyes. "You solved it? What? How?"

She smiled mysteriously. "It's not Runes. I really didn't need to take that class. Neither did you, but there we go. We never needed it. It's blood."

"Blood?"

"Yes- my blood. That's what I'd been doing, that day you found me. Translating. And it worked, too. I just got a little impatient."

Regulus's eyes unconsciously traced the scars on her hands. He didn't remember them all. Her hands were white, crisscrossed with thin brown scars. "You got impatient and you slit – "

"Yes, yes, I know. But you see, now that I _know_, I know how much I can handle and how much it can handle. I can control it, really."

She believed what she was saying, that's what Regulus saw in her eyes. He flashed back to the day he brought her in here. She had been talking about voices – preying spirits. Dark, most definitely. But Dark doesn't always mean evil, he thought automatically.

He didn't know what to think.

"You have to promise me," she continued. "I can't take the book home with me, so you've got to keep it, keep it secret, keep it safe. You can't tell anyone. Please, Regulus. Just give me that."

The door of the hospital wing opened, and a pair of middle-aged, brown haired, kindly looking folks entered. Regulus had very little doubt about who they belonged to.

He inhaled deeply and sighed through his nostrils. "All right." He wasn't exactly sure to what he was agreeing. He hadn't visited the tree since he'd found her there, collapsed in a heap. He didn't even know if the book was still there. A part of him wished that the giant squid had eaten it in his absence. "All right, I'll do it. Your parents are here and I have to go. Goodbye Dorcas."

Smiling up at him from the hospital bed, she had the look of one with a heavy burden just relieved. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Goodbye," Regulus said again.

He kissed her cheek once. As he left, Regulus gave Mr. and Mrs. a cursory nod each.


	16. Chapter 15

A swish and flutter. Blue and silver. Fine things, old money. Much like his house, except with an entirely different air. An old carved desk separated the nervous Regulus from the regal Dumbledore, much like the desk in Regulus's house. This one has been used, though, and the seat worn to a comfortable cushion. The edges of the desk worn to a smooth curve by the thousands of nervous hands nervously playing with the edges as a nervous youth sat, much like Regulus today, across from the most powerful man in the school. And, Regulus reflected, one of the most powerful men in the world.

"You do know why you're here, don't you Regulus?" rang the voice again. It sent chills down the boy's spine. He didn't know how to answer.

Well – I might have my suspicions, he thought. But to know? Knowing anything for certain is impossible.

Dumbledore carried onward, sensing Regulus's hesitation. "I have a report here from the hospital wing, which states that on April 14 an unconsious Ms. Dorcas Meadowes was admitted with a near fatal wound. I understand that you were the party to assist Ms. Meadowes' arrival."

"Yes, sir, I was."

"Ah. Thank you, Regulus." The ominous sound of shuffling papers accompanied the answer.

"I didn't do it though, sir. I didn't have any part in the – uh - "

"Regulus, I know. It's been confirmed it was a self-inflicted wound. However, the circumstances surrounding the actual infliction of the wound appear somewhat murky. I was hoping you might be able to enlighten me."

"About – what she did to herself?"

"If that is helpful."

"Well, I don't know how she did it. I just found her." This was not a lie. In fact, it was entirely the truth.

Dumbledore pushed his spectacles up, leaned forward and looked Regulus in the eyes. "I don't know if you understand the importance of this information. I need to know exactly how _you_ came to be the one to find her and, frankly, save her life. You are a sharp boy. You know this as well as I. But as it stands, even if this story contains – uncomfortable details – I need you to lay out the facts for me. Dorcas's life might depend on the matter."

He let the words fill the air. "Let me repeat. Dorcas's life might depend on the matter. I need to know what you did on April 14."

Regulus's mind went blank. And then, one thought:

Shit.

Fifteen minutes later, Regulus walked calmly down the stairs and down a hallway. As soon as he turned the corner, he broke into a run. Dumbledore must know that he was lying. It would only be a matter of time before he would find out the truth. Regulus had to hide the book for Dorcas and make it appear no one had ever spent time down by the Perfect Tree. Then he would write a letter to Dorcas and tell her the "official" story. And hope it's what she would tell her parents.

He had to do it quickly. He had plans tonight.


	17. Chapter 16

"Dorcas," whispered Regulus, his face inches from hers. The light of the setting sun played shadows across her face under the branches of the bare tree.

"Yes?"

Regulus watched the white breath escape her mouth, a single puff, like a little cloud. It made him a little ashamed of his question. He paused, waited until the smoky tendrils had dissolved into the air. She sat on his lap, his arms holding her tight, faces at a right angle.

He took a breath and casually said, "Are you a pureblood?"

Her brows knotted into a frown. "Sorry?"

"Um. Pedigree. You've told me your father comes from a well respected family, but what about your mom?"

"My mom," she mused dreamily. "She's a witch."

"Good, okay, and her parents..." he said, prodding her on.

She yawned, clearly not in the mood to be prodded anywhere. Not now, when she was spending her precious time with him instead of taking a nap, which would be far more sensible. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"Well, I've got to know whether to send the wedding invitations my owl or by post, now don't I?"

She laughed out loud. They had spent the previous night in the library, studying the postal service for a test in Muggle Studies. In the little time actually spent studying, Dorcas was fully convinced that Regulus would never survive in the Muggle world if left to his own devices. He still wasn't entirely clear on whether electricity would be needed to send the letter and what function the postal code served.

"I don't think you'd be able to manage one letter, let alone the dozens needed to reach my extended Muggle relations," she shook her head in pity.

"So your grandparents were Muggles then?"

"If I said they were, would I get to watch you send these letters to them?"

He shivered in horror. "Of course not! I'd just buy envelopes for my maidservant Brunhilda to, erm, you know, write on."

"You silly, silly rich boy. There's no use in giving you an education, is there?" Dorcas giggled, and leaned forward to peck him on the cheek.

"So they're actually wizards?" Regulus said.

"You have to get me a ring first."

"A what?"

"Before you can send out the invitations. A really nice, crusty old diamond ring. It'd better be huge."

"An heirloom?"

"Most definitely. I want a big fat B on the jewel." She held out her arm, pretending to admire the stone on her finger. He kissed her finger like a French gentleman. Or what he presumed a Frcnch gentleman would do, having never met one.

"Heirloom jewels are a specialty of the family Black. What's the use of being aristocratic without jewels? I broke into my mother's jewelry once, years and years ago. She had rocks the size of snitches. All of them, probably over a hundred years old. Covered in gold and silver, positively dripping with rubies and emeralds."

Dorcas exhaled delicately, making that face that he loved so much. "What did your mother do when she found you with your hand in the jewelry box?"

Regulus grinned. "She was actually away with my father, somewhere in Russia for god knows what, with just the nannies back to look after us. After I found the box, I ran to show Sirius, and we pretended that we were pirates, come upon hidden treasure. We buried it in the yard and dug it up again. Eventually Sirius, of course the victorious pirate, took the box and hid it away."

"Your mother never found out?"

Regulus remembered lying in his bed, listening to his mother and brother screaming at each other, stomping up and down the staircases, slamming doors. Always an argument – but about the jewels? "No. He sold them when he left. He needed every cent he could get." He changed the subject again, very gentlemanly. "What was your mother's maiden name, then?"

Dorcas thought for a minute, her finger twirling a strand of brown hair. "Smith, I think."

"That's not a wizarding name."

"She was given it when she was adopted. She grew up Muggle. At least until she got her letter from Hogwarts."

"And her birth parents?"

Dorcas shook her head gently. "She never tried to find them, as far as I know. She always told me her parents were enough parents for her. What did she always say? Something like, we can't choose our families, but at least my parents chose me. Something like that. Said she would have chosen me."

"That's very sweet. Of course, I would have chosen you as well." He didn't want to push the subject. It made him uneasy.

"Somebody's looking for a kiss!" she laughed. He smiled, showing off his good manners. Nope, no hidden agendas here.

"And do I get one?"

She smiled and leaned into his cheek, finally her lips finding his. She loved his skin, she loved his mouth. She'd never told him, but she did.

He took what he was given, gratefully, and returned the favor. He, too, felt the electricity, the warmth of his skin on hers.

They hugged tighter and closer in the dying rays of the sunset.


	18. Chapter 17

June 23, 1975

Dorcas walked the grounds slowly, letting the sweetness of the air and the sunshine melt slowly through her skin. Her shoes were off and the coolness of the grass invigorated the soles of her feet. She let her hair hang down her back, the long brown tresses uncombed and wet.

It felt a happy contrast to the coldness inside her, the twisting of her guts from these last few weeks.

June had bloomed and she'd missed it. She'd skipped spring entirely, going from bleak winter to dazzling sun. Maybe that's why the ice in her belly hadn't yet melted away. It hung around, defying nature and the natural order of things.

That wasn't true, though. Its real cause sat twenty yards away and every step brought her closer to him.

-

There was no sensation, really, like that of his skin touching hers. She couldn't fathom not touching him, keeping the electric connection alive for another moment. His hands, his arms, his face, his neck. His shoulders, wide and smooth.

Something was gone, though. She saw it in the halls of school, in the separation from her during class. She needed to ask him. _Why don't you look at me? Why don't you talk to me? Why are there two you's and two me's? Why do I doubt? I don't want to doubt. I hate the doubt. _

_Doubt burns like acid. _

He smiled down at her. "I love you," he said. Happy.

"I love you, too," she said.

And just like that, she realized down to her bones that they were two separate people.


End file.
